


Angelic Intervention

by LaDemonessa



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M, Senslash Fun, The Angelic Intervention Universe, crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDemonessa/pseuds/LaDemonessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuckie helps Jim and Blair avoid a nasty problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angelic Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Angelic Interference universe 
> 
> For those of you as sick of winged messengers and Touched by a Cherub bullshit as I am, don't panic. This ain't your average pit stop on the Highway to Heaven.
> 
> I always dedicate my stories to those whom I love or who I think will best appreciate them. With that said, my sicko angels are dedicated to a pagan and a Quaker. For KK's husband who wanted to know where I fell in the food chain (this should help) and to Katisha who is not a fan of The Manhattan Transfer. Watch out, heeeeeere's CHUCKIE!

## Angelic Intervention

by JA Ingram

Author's email cjjingram@wildblue.net or cjjingram@yahoo.net

Author's disclaimer: Disclaimer: PetFly owns the Sentinel, Paramount owns Star Trek, but I own Heaven and its perverted winged messengers.

* * *

Angelic Intervention  
By JA Ingram  
Sentinel J/B 

In case ya forgot who we was, lemme fill ya in. 

A lot of folks think angels are some blond haired gals with big boobs playin' harps for eternity and they wouldn't be completely wrong. A few of the dames on Gabby's choir have some mighty fine knockers, but I ain't one of 'em. 

Name's Chuck, and I'm a cherub. One of the oldest living cherubs in all of Heaven in fact. It's not my fault though. See, some of the upper management are jealous because not only am I damn good lookin', but I happen to have one of the best records in all of Romantic Fiction. Yup, you got a couple that needs to get a little nookie and I got the chutzpah ta get it for em. 

"Chuck! Either sit your lard ass down or go get me a pot pie. My show is on, dammit!" 

Chuck looked over to the large gray winged angel sitting on the beat up tapestry couch in the middle of the cloud. "What kind?" 

Marva, the aforementioned angel, scowled at him, her cigar clenched tightly between her dentures. "Like I gives a fuck. Just gimme a chicken pot pie and a bottle of manna then sit down." 

"We watchin' wrestlin' tonight?" A tall, grizzled biker with wings sat down on the large, dilapidated couch and scratched his furred stomach through a t-shirt that said, "For a Heavenly experience, come to HOOTERS". "Hey Chuckie, gimme a bottle too, willya?" 

"Sure TJ," Chuckie said as he handed him the cold bottle and sat down between the two. He handed Marva her pie and beer then pulled the third bottle out of his loincloth. 

TJ saw this then choked slightly, "Aw man! Tell me you did not stick my beer down your jockeys, man!" 

"Well, it's not like you'll catch anything, dude," Chuck said in a hurt tone. "I mean, ya can't get anymore dead, right?" 

"The alcohol'll kill any germs left on the bottle so stop yer whinin'!" Marva said between puffs. "This ain't that imported shit, is it? Last time I drank that Babylonian Manna I pissed like a racehorse." 

TJ gave a disgusted noise and wiped the bottle on the couch before popping the top, "Damn Chuck, at least change your draperies before doing shit like that, man. I mean, you got hash marks older than the pyramids." 

"Whatever," the cherub belched as he scratched his hairy potbelly and attempted to squeeze out a minor fart as smoothly and silently as possible. 

" _sniff_ This pot pie smells a little funny," Marva muttered as she sniffed her fork. 

"I don't smell nothin'," Chuck shrugged innocently. 

TJ merely shifted a bit in his seat and took a long draught of beer. "Whose night is it, anyway?" 

A tall, elegant angel in pristine robes emerged from behind a cloud along with another, shorter angel who had acne and large hornrimmed glasses. "I vote we watch a nice nature program," the tall angel said with a slight British accent. "I believe there's a program on about the mating habits of bees." 

"Forget it," TJ said disgustedly, "The only 'nature' program I want to see involves the mating habits of strippers." 

"Is it possible for you to get any more crass, TJ?" the taller angel asked in a superior tone. 

"Is it possible for your sphincter to get any tighter, Wilson?" TJ asked, "Must be hell finding a date, man. The guy'd have to have a hypodermic needle between his legs." 

"Oh, I found him already, but before I make my move I'm waiting for you to hit a growth spurt, TJ," Wilson shot back with a raised eyebrow. 

"Good one!" Marva howled. 

"Can we watch Science Fiction Theater?" the smaller angel asked, ignoring his companion's bickering. "Harlan Ellison is gonna be on!" 

"That whiny ass?" Marva snorted, "Ferget it. It's my night and we're watching my show." 

"Aw man, not that Sentinel shit again," TJ huffed. "That show is lame." 

"Eat me." 

"Not until I'm a hell of a lot more drunk," the biker angel shot back. 

Marva lit up another stogie and glared through a haze of smoke. "When it's your night, we can watch female midget mudwrestlin' or whatever, but tonight we're watchin' my show." 

TJ rolled his eyes, "Fine, but don't bitch about my taste in tv shows anymore. At least my shows have strong female rolemodels and stuff." 

"Yeah, like Trixie the three titted trollop and her twin sister, Rolanda," Marva shot back. 

"Better than that Cassie chick. Can we say 'Mary Sue'?" the youngest angel snorted. "She annoys me." 

"Keep out of this, Melvin," Marva warned with an irritated flick of ash. 

"Hey, I kinda like Cassie--she's cute!" Chuck announced, "But that Megan girl gets on my nerves." 

Sounds of disgust filled their cloud cluster. 

"I happen to _love_ Megan!" Wilson protested, "Such a lovely young woman...for an Australian, anyway." 

"Hey, Megan's cool!" Melvin chimed in, "At least she actually does something! Cassie just tells people how great she is and annoys everyone until Jim and Blair rescue her!" 

"I'm for any chick who owns her own set of handcuffs," TJ leered. 

"Knock it off, you furry pervert," Marva rasped out, "Yer givin' me indigestion." 

" I just hate the way she talks," Chuck whined, "Like we're supposed to know all them Australian curse words and stuff." 

"Well, you're about to get a private lesson in Aussie cussin' if you don't shut yer yap! My show's comin' on!" 

All five angels settled down on the couch as the television blinked on. 

A white-robed gentlemen who bore an uncanny resemblance to Dick Clark stepped out from behind a test pattern and smiled to the camera. "Due to technical difficulties, tonight's showing of 'The Sentinel' has been canceled so that we may bring you 'The Roma Downey Cloud Hou--" 

"Fuck Roma Downey," Marva grumbled, "Somebody ought to feed her skinny ass so she'd stop her whinin'." 

"They canceled it?" Wilson muttered in shock. 

"Like who didn't know THAT was gonna happen?" TJ yawned, "I mean, they already canceled the thing twice." 

"Yeah, this show's been resurrected more times than the Big Guy," Chuckie snorted as he scratched his balls and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. 

Melvin, ever observant to what went on around him...most of the time, blinked as he took note of what station they had been watching. "Say, isn't this--" 

"Exactly," came Wilson's grim reply. 

"Well, I'm fucking clueless!" TJ huffed throwing up his arms in defeat. 

"Big shock there," Marva muttered as she snagged the remote back from him and flipped the channel to the news. 

"Simply put, our dear Marva has been watching the Sentinel, but on the fanfiction station," the tall, elegant angel said with a definite inflection. 

"So?" Chuckie shrugged as he reached down to snag a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffeetable. 

"So, have you ever heard of a fanfiction inspired reality to be canceled?" Melvin answered in a slightly panicked tone. 

The members of the Romantic Fiction department froze as they each contemplated the ramifications of such a decision by Heaven's upper management. 

"Oh SHIT!" Chuck jumped, chewed popcorn residue flying out of his mouth. 

Even Marva's ever present cigar hung limply between her lips, "They're making cutbacks in OUR department?!?" 

"They can't do that--we're UNION!" Chuck howled, then looked down at TJ, "Aren't we?" 

"Sit down you moron," the biker smacked him on the back of his greasy head then wiped his hand on the couch before continuing, "We're gonna have to go upstairs and talk to...somebody." 

"Who?" Melvin asked, eyes wide. Melvin had only been assigned to the department a short time and, as the saying goes, last hired, first fired. In Heaven, "fired" was taken very literally--all the way _downstairs_ kind of literal, y'know? 

"Obviously, we have to go to Gabriel," Wilson sighed, "She is our immediate supervisor." 

"Yeah, but Gabby hates my ass," TJ pointed out. 

"Nonsense!" Wilson retorted, "Angels of Gabriel's rank do not 'hate' anyone...I think." 

"There was that incident with TJ and the brass section of the choir," Marva said slowly. 

"You mean when he replaced all their sheet music with Playboy centerfolds?" Melvin asked. 

"Or when he slipped laxative in the punchbowl?" Chuck asked. 

"Or when TJ heckled the conductor so bad that he tossed his baton and accidentally hit St. Joan upside the head?" Melvin piped up again. 

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Marva chuckled. "Man, she musta been premenstrual, 'cause she kicked that conductor so hard he's now the lead eunuch in the boy's choir!" 

"HEY!" 

All eyes turned toward the angel in question. 

TJ grinned evilly, "Don't forget the time I got their tenor so drunk he sang dirty limericks to the tune of Ave Maria." 

"That Caruso guy could sing a hell of a ditty, couldn't he?" Marva sighed in recollection. 

"Needless to say, we'll just have to hope that Gabriel can put aside her feelings about TJ's past indiscretions for the time being and listen to our plea for an audience with upper management." 

"Yeah. Right." The cluster of angels looked on in amazement as Marva sighed and then proceeded to do the unimaginable: she snuffed out her cigar and laid it in the ashtray before heading off toward the golden cloud of Gabriel the archangel. "Let's get a move on, ladies." 

The four other angels quickly filed in behind her and headed upward toward the big cloud, secure in their cause. After all, Gabriel was their boss and a symbol of peace, love, and creativity--it's not like she would kick them out of her office, right? 

* * *

"Get. Out. Now." 

"But--" 

"Door. Exit. LEAVE!" 

"But--" 

"Boy, don't make me go Avenging Angel on your ass!" 

Wilson cleared his throat and straightened the folds on his robe nervously, "Please ma'am, just a moment--" 

Gabriel scowled and held up her hand, palm out, "Do I look like a fool to you, boy? Now, I ain't stuttin' you or your friends, got it? I got a concert in one hour and I am not about to put up with none o' y'all so just head on out that door." 

"That stuff she's doing with the Fox network is really affecting her, huh?" Chuckie whispered to Melvin. 

"Shut up fat boy." 

Chuckie paled, "Yes, ma'am." 

"Gabby, babe..." TJ began with a grin. 

"Don't smile at me and don't touch anything," Gabriel ordered. "I just had this cloud cleaned--and stay on the plastic!" 

They all looked down at the plastic runners strewn all over the soft white cloud cover of Gabriel's office. The archangel sat behind a large mahogany desk and glaring at them with dark, ageless eyes. Her dark, shiny hair was piled under a bright orange and gold turban and her robe was richly patterned in green, orange, gold, and tawny brown embroidery. Her dark gold wings twitched in annoyance as she looked down upon her Romantic Literature crew and was undoubtedly recounting every embarrassing and destructive thing they had ever done. 

Marva stepped forward and cleared her throat, "It's really important that we see you, ma'am." 

"The Sentinel was canceled!" Melvin piped up then winced as Gabriel's eyes fixed upon him. 

"You mean to tell me that you busted into MY office because you're missin' your shows?" Gabriel snorted, "When they cancel Jerry Springer THEN you can come into my office and interrupt me, now go." 

"But it's the fanfiction version, ma'am," Wilson waved in dismay. 

The archangel blinked, "Say what?" 

"The fanfiction channel canceled the Sentinel! That's what we were trying to tell you," Chuckie sighed. "Got any brews? All this explaining has made me thirsty." 

Gabriel glared then pointed one red lacquered nail toward the exit. "Get. Out." 

"But" 

"Go wait in the lobby," she said dismissively. "I need to make a few phone calls, until then," she fixed a withering glare on all of them, "I don't want to see or hear any of you and I certainly don't want to smell you." She looked Chuckie up and down, "Boy, get some pride in yourself." 

Chuckie sniffed his pits and shrugged. 

The five angels slowly filtered out into the lobby and sat down. Marva grabbed a 3000 year old copy of Cosmopolitan which had a headline that screamed, "Mummification Beauty Secrets Revealed; Wrapping Techniques Of The Pharaohs On a Working Girl's Budget". TJ was busy trying to score with the receptionist while Wilson listened to Bach on his Walkman. Melvin had brought a stash of old comic books, which he and Chuck were dividing between them when they heard...it. 

"What in the H-E-double hockey sticks are you telling me?!? BUDGET CUTS?!?" 

Everyone, from the receptionist to the janitor stared at the door as Very Bad Words erupted from behind the doors of Gabriel's office. 

"We'll just see about that! _SLAM_ GET THOSE FIVE MORONS BACK IN HERE _NOW_!!!" 

* * *

"But" 

"I don't want to hear any excuses!" 

"But" 

"You fix this and you fix it now!" Gabriel shouted, "I'm not about to see _MY_ record tarnished because" 

"But" 

"one of _YOU_ screwed up, are we clear?!?" 

"But we aren't over senslash!" Wilson wailed, "We only do treksmut!" 

"NOT ANYMORE! NOW GET THE @*$%! OUT OF MY OFFICE! _SLAM_!" 

TJ blinked, "Whoa." 

"Tell me about it," Marva commiserated as she chewed on her cigar. 

"I never knew @*$%! was an actual word," the biker mused. "What is that, Chinese or somethin'?" 

"I think it's a high angelic dialect with a latin base," Wilson answered. "I'll have to check my" 

"Would you two morons knock of the crap for two seconds, I gotta think about this," Marva growled as she pulled at the back of her dress to relieve her office chair wedgie. 

The five of them wandered silently back downstairs to their cloud, the only noises coming from Chuckie's ever rumbling stomach. 

Each of them took their customary seats on the couch as Marva paced back and forth across the worn cloud cover. "The way I see it, *puff-puff* we have to get these writers on track and fast. If they start canceling fanfiction we could be looking for jobs and I ain't lookin' forward to spending eternity quilting toilet paper with the rest of the geriatrics in TV Heaven!" 

"Surely they wouldn't get rid of all of us," Wilson said wringing his hands together. 

"Well, I ain't goin' no where," TJ said stubbornly. "I sure as hell don't intend to take a demotion just because somebody else screwed up!" 

"I wonder if the manna factory is taking applications?" Chuck belched before taking another gulp of brew. 

"So what are we supposed to do?" Melvin asked miserably. 

"The way I see it, one of us has got to go down and 'fix' this Jim and Blair situation," Marva grumbled. "The question is whose gonna do it?" 

"Well, the angel taking on this assignment has to be experienced, intelligent, and precise obviously," Wilson supplied, dusting some imaginary lint off his immaculate robes. 

"That leaves you out," TJ snickered. 

"Up. Yours." Wilson replied stuffily. 

"Naw, this job has to be fast and dirty but effective," Marva lit up another stogie and stared them all down. "Sorry Wilson, but you take too damn long." 

"I guess it's my show then," TJ crowed. 

"And you'd just fuck it all up!" Marva snapped, "No, this one is Chuck's." 

"Ah man, why do I have to do it?" Chuckie whined. 

"Because even though you're a total moron you still manage to get the job done fast," Marva snapped. "Now pack up and move out!" 

"But I don't know anything about these guys," he protested. 

"From what I understand, you don't have to," Wilson spoke up. "It appears that the groundwork is already completed, the problem lies in the presentation of the relationship not in its actual dynamic." 

"Huh?" 

"In other words, they're already screwing each other, you just have to get them to stop being so mushy about it so people don't get so grossed out by the whole thing," Melvin explained rolling his eyes. 

"Oh." 

"Here's the file," TJ said tossing it over, "Now get the hell out of here and fix it." 

"Man, this sucks," Chuckie grumbled as he headed for the elevator. 

"Just keep repeating that, Chuckles," TJ snickered, "and you'll have those guys fixed in no time." 

* * *

The loft was dark, the only light coming from a few candles near the couch, the scent of vanilla, mango, and passionflower hung heavy in the air. Jim lay with his head pillowed in Blair's lap, dozing lightly as they relaxed to the music coming from the stereo by the wall. 

//You wish that there were four of him  
Oh how I could love much more of him  
He has taken your complete heart  
You got a sweet tooth for your sweetheart// 

"I love you, Jim." 

The big man reached a gentle hand up, cupping his lover's cheek, "And I love you, Chief." 

"Aw, fuck! Talk about a challenge, man. 'Candy'?!? I mean, not even Chakotay/Paris writers go THAT far!" 

Both men jumped up startled, Jim's hand automatically going for his gun, which he had lain on the coffee table earlier. 

"What the hell is that?" Blair gaped. 

In the center of the room, in all his soiled and sundry glory, stood a short fat guy with wings in desperate need of a bath and a shave. He sneezed suddenly, grabbing the first thing he could reach which, unfortunately for Blair, was his discarded flannel shirt. 

"Hi, _snerk_ _blow_ I'll be your cherub for today, you can call me 'blessed messenger' or Chuck." 

"Tell me I'm not seeing this," Blair begged. 

"Short disgusting fat guy with wings, just hocked a lugie in your shirt? Yup, 'fraid so, Chief," Jim said as he calmly cocked back the hammer on his revolver. 

" _ACHOO_ Can we please blow out these candles, _sniffle_?" Chuck waved his hand and suddenly all the lights were back on and the candles snuffed out. "Smells like a whorehouse in here, and believe me, I've smelled a few of those in my time. Some of these fanfic writers get a little melodramatic, y'know? Tom Paris has had the clap so many times, I'm surprised his dick hasn't fallen off, and I think there's a medical textbook out there with Will Riker on the cover" 

"Whatwhohow in the hell did you get in here?!?" Blair yelled, still hiding slightly behind Jim. 

"Flew in," Chuck shrugged, walking over to the kitchen and taking out a beer. "That's why they give us the wings, genius. _POP_ _GULP_ _Urp_ You sure you're a scientist, dude?" 

"Put your hands in the air slowly," Jim ordered, his eyes narrowing dangerously. 

"What is this shit? Light beer??? Dudes, stop taking that health food thing so seriously, okay? Sheesh!" Chuckie strolled over to the chair and plopped down, giving his balls a quick adjustment before addressing his companions, "Relax, pal. I'm an angel, awright? I'm here to save your freaky asses so just sit down and put away the gun. Believe me, you don't want all the bad karma that comes from shooting unarmed cherubs anyway." He rubbed his hairy belly then looked around, "You guys got anything to eat around here? I could go for a bowl of chili or a corndog right now." 

"Blair, call 911 and request back up. Tell them to send an ambulance as well. I have the feeling that this guy is an escaped fruitcake," Jim said dryly. 

"Wait, you dudes believe in Sentinels, spirit guides, and ghosts but _I'M_ the nutjob?!?" Chuckie protested. 

Blair reached for the phone but it wasn't there anymoreneither was Jim's gun for that matter. Both had disappeared into thin air and the self-proclaimed angel was looking somewhat irritable. 

"Man, you guys are thick! Why can't you just sit the fuck down and listen for two minutes?" 

"Okay, buddyI don't know what's going on here but you're under arrest forWHOA!" 

The two men were thrown back against the couch cushions causing it to scrape across the floor a few inches from the impact. Chuckie gulped down the last of his beer and slammed it down on the table hard. "Now just shut the hell up and pay attention! I'm an angel! I'm here to help you! If you don't knock it off I'll leave you two here to deal with this shit alone and take my chances at getting a job with my cousin Irving at the Manna Bottling Plant, okay?!?" 

"Angel?" 

"Irving?" 

"Yeah," Chuck folded his arms and smoldered, "And to top it all off, I'm hungry and all you guys got is health food and tongue. How anyone can eat 'tongue' is beyond me! It's a cow's TONGUE! He licks his balls with it and it still has the little tongue hair scaly things attached." He thought about it for a second, "Then again, look at what you guys lick." 

"Butbutbut you can't be an angel! I'm Jewish! I'm not even a practicing Jew! I eat bacon, I-I've even been known to put tuna salad on a bagel!" Blair objected, "I thought only goyim who stick plastic madonnas on their dashboards went for this Touched by an Angel shit!" 

"Hey, don't be so narrow minded, you'd be surprised. Besides that we're non-denominational." 

"Angels are non-denominational?" Jim asked slowly. 

"Yeah, it's pretty cool actually. The Hari Krishna angels annoy me a little though. They're too damn happy all the time and I personally think tambourines should be banned." 

"I'm going crazy, aren't I?" Blair asked faintly. 

"If you're losing it then so am I," Jim sighed. 

"The point is that if we don't fix you guys soon, they're going to cancel your whole universe." The two mortals watched in amazement as a beer magically appeared in the winged man's hand and popped off its own cap. 

"Huh?" Jim grunted out dumbly. 

"Lemme guess, you're the brains of this outfit?" Chuckie asked sarcastically. "Look, we don't have time for this. We need to straighten this whole mess out like now because my show is coming on in an hour and you guys barely have cable." 

"What do you mean? How can our universe being canceled?" Blair asked rubbing his throbbing temples. 

"See, you guys were created when some writer out there was inspired to create a story with the two of you as characters. Whenever a story is created that seems to have a special life force all its own, an alternate universe pops up where all the people in the story really can exist. The thing of it is, angels who work as muses, like me, observe and sometimes manipulate the events in any given reality so we can inspire writers to keep the story alive. What goes on in this plane of reality sort of sloshes over into the next one, got it?" 

"So why are you here exactly?" Jim asked, wondering silently if Blair stuck some funny herbs in his drink. 

"Well, according to your file," a manila folder appeared in Chuck's grubby hand and he began to flip through the pages, "somehow or another your universe was created during a routine field test by a couple of angel trainees which is why you never got bumped up to our department. Due to a mix up in the paperwork, your universe was allotted limited funding and allowed to continue unsupervised. We're trying to track down the glitch, but ever since they installed Windows 10,000,000.2 it's impossible to find anything and hell already has dibs on Bill. Apparently, even without angelic supervision, your universe flourished and several writers ran with the idea. No one ever noticed that you guys were running illegally until the IRS did an audit." 

"The IRS?!?" both men gaped at him in disbelief. 

"Yeah, ever since heaven decided to take our stock public and Mohammed got implicated in that S &L scandal with Moses, the IRS has been auditing us regularly," Chuck sighed. "The worst part is that since hell has a huge waiting list we've been taking in, shall we say, less than qualified applicants for some of the angelic postings. We have a shitload of tax lawyers now and I don't even want to think about all the television producers we're stuck with, but that's water under the bridge, y'know?" 

Blair looked like his brain was on meltdown and Jim's mouth was wide open as he tried desperately to keep up with the conversation. 

"Anyway, all these friggin' tax lawyers and accountants got together and decided to trim the heavenly fat, so to speak. They started with _our_ department, Romantic Fiction, which really ticked off Gabriel. She ordered us muses to fix it and my supervisor, Marva, assigned me to the case. You guys still listening?" Both men nodded dumbly. "Good. Anyway, according to your file, something is wrong with the fanfiction your pairing is generating and the accounting department has basically decided to scrap you guys. If they do that then not only will you guys go 'poof', but the entire Romantic Fiction Department will fall under scrutiny and they'll start downsizing our asses big time." 

Jim didn't know what the hell was going on and he didn't quite believe everything he was seeing and hearing, but he did know that he didn't like the idea of going 'poof'. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Can they do that? What about your...boss?" 

"Look, you're talking about guys that even hell didn't want, okay?" Chuckie slumped down even further in the chair, "They're slippery little bastards and they've got the loopholes pretty well sewn up. Luckily, this sort of thing has to go up before a panel of archangels and we've been granted an extension. If we can get you on the right track and bring up the quality of fanfiction at least a little, you guys will have another shot at becoming a regular fanfic universe, you dig?" 

"How do we do that?" 

"Is this like a grant committee or something?" Blair asked. "Y'know, lots of ass kissing and tons of useless paperwork?" 

"Yeah," Chuck grumbled. "That's it in a nutshell." 

"So what do we do?" Jim repeated in an exasperated tone. 

"I'll ask you guys some questions and you'll answer them as honestly as you can," the smelly cherub scratched his armpit then flipped through the pages of in the folder until coming to a questionnaire. 

"Okay, we can do that," Blair breathed in relief and Jim nodded in assent. 

"Okay, first question: what color are your companion's eyes?" 

Blair smiled sweetly and looked toward Jim with a soft expression, "Jim's eyes are this incredible crystalline blue that are so clear and deep that sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in them." 

"And what about you, dude?" Chuck asked with an eye roll. 

Jim threw him an irritated look then gazed deeply into the anthropologist's face, "Blair's eyes always remind me of the ocean, wild and bright cerulean, swelling with intelligence and energy. When I look at him I see my future." 

"Oh Jim." 

"Oh GAG!" Chuck smacked the folder against his knee in disgust. "Can we say WRONG ANSWER?!? Look, you're men! Act like it! When I asked what color your companion's eyes were you were SUPPOSED to act like you'd never even noticed he had eyes. If you did notice then a simple 'blue' would have sufficed. That cerulean shit is like so not good, man. For cryin' out loud, yer a friggin' cop! You shouldn't even know what 'cerulean' is unless it's a donut topping or the name of your favorite stripper, okay?" 

Both men's mouths tightened in anger but they nodded and mentally tucked that information away for future reference. 

"Next question: how many times a week do you say 'I love you' to your significant other?" 

Jim shrugged, "I dunno, a few dozen maybe?" 

Blair shook his head, "We say it all the time so" 

"WRONG ANSWER!" Chuck interrupted. "Men never say 'I love you' unless they want to cum, are in the middle of cumming, or want to cum again soon. They do NOT say it all the time for no reason. Jeez, didn't they issue you guys nads or what?" 

"But I do love him!" the curly haired man defended. 

"Well, he might have a point there, Chief," Jim offered reluctantly. "I know I hardly ever spouted love poetry around Carolyn." 

"Yeah, and you're divorced. What's your point?" Blair gritted out. 

"I'm just saying it's a little..." 

"Girlie?" Chuck offered. 

"What he said," Jim hitched his thumb toward the cherub. 

"We _will_ discuss this later," Blair muttered darkly. "Next question!" 

"Ho-kay, how's about this one, it's a two parter: do you often find yourself quoting song lyrics to describe your feelings toward your partner and if so, do they tend to be songs that are currently on the Pop Music Charts Top 10 List?" 

Jim cleared his throat, "Can we skip this one?" 

"Yeah! I mean...well, it doesn't seem that relevant, does it?" Blair asked wanly. 

"All questions must be answered, them's the rules," Chuckie shook his head sympathetically. 

"Well, yeah," Jim managed, "but you have to understand! He's such a Santana kind of guy! Look at him!" 

"Hey, and Jim is like just _so_ Sarah McLaughlin, man!" 

The elder man blinked then turned to his lover, "Sarah McLaughlin? I don't think so." 

Blair crossed his arms and frowned at his partner, "Yes, you are. You're angsty and nostalgic with a slightly playful edge, so just deal with it, okay?" 

"Look, Sarah McLaughlin is a GIRL! I am in no way, shape, or form a girl, okay? She sings about girls! If we were a lesbian couple then maybe you'd have a point" 

"She doesn't only sing about girls and I got news for you pally, you ain't that damn butch!" 

"Oh yeah?!? Well, who here is the little bottom slut, huh? Who here has more hair than most women?!?" 

"Well it ain't you, cueball! Besides, if I recall correctly you were pretty quick to roll over last--" 

"WHOA! WHOA! WHOA!" Chuck jumped in between them and waved his hands to get their attention, "Hey! It's just music, all right? Sheesh! Besides, you're both wrong. Most people can appreciate a short burst of lyrics occasionally but that quote the whole song thing is annoying as well as stupid! If they wanted to listen to the damn song they'd turn on the radio, okay?" Chuckie looked down between their bodies then back up to Jim's face, "Hey, big guy, mind putting that thing away? You're poking me in the kidney here." 

Jim blushed beet red and took a sudden step back. 

Chuck whipped out a pencil from deep within his jock and scribbled down a note, "Guess this answers the question: do you get turned on by dumb ass arguments?" 

"Can we just, like, get this over with?" Blair asked sitting down wearily. 

Jim joined him on the couch and crossed his legs protectively, his face still purple with humiliation. 

"Okie dokie, next one! Do you now or have you ever giggled?" 

Blair shook his head calmly, "Never." 

Jim looked up suddenly and hitched his thumb toward Blair, "He does it all the time." 

"No way!" 

"You do! You do it all the time and it annoys the hell out of everybody" 

"Are you TRYING to fail us here?!?" 

"HEY! Love birds, YO! Chill, awright?" Chuck scratched his butt and began to pace, "Man, this is a real shit assignment. Listen, as far as 'they' are concerned," he pointed up to the ceiling, "you guys are already FUBAR'd. I'm just tryin' to set youse guys back on the right track here." He looked at his watch, "Shit man, we don't have that much time left. You guys ready for another question?" 

"I guess so," Jim muttered reluctantly. 

"It can't get much worse, right?" Blair snorted. 

"Do you often find yourselves being saved by mysterious men or women whom you feel oddly attracted to and are perfect in every way, shape, or form and usually have magic powers and/or skills that greatly surpass that of normal human beings?" 

"Oh yeah," Jim agreed quickly. 

"Pisses me off too, boy!" Blair nodded. 

"Hmm, an unusual amount of Mary Sue activity. We'll have to see about sending in a couple of exterminators," the cherub mused. 

"Hey, tell 'em to go after Cassie first! If she pinches my ass or tells me about how nobody appreciates her one more time, I'll steal Jim's gun and shoot her myself," Blair declared. 

"Steal? Hell, it's yours!" Jim snorted. 

"Sorry bud, she's canon," Chuck offered him a sympathetic half-smile. "Even the best writers get your occasional brain fart, y'know? Look at Wesley. At least Cassie has nicer tits." 

"True, but that's still shitty," Blair frowned. "Is it okay if I kill her anyway?" 

"Dude, I make my living by inspiring people to bump uglies, you think I'm gonna get all judgmental? Please." 

"How many more questions are on this thing?" Jim asked leaning back into the couch and stifling a yawn. 

"Not too much more," Chuck promised. "Okay, this is a multiple-choice question: which of the following is an acceptable endearment? A) baby B) snowflake C) angel D) shithead or E) sparrow. 

"Shithead," both men said together. 

"KEEE-RECT!" Chuck howled, "We're making some progress! Now, here's a tough one, ready?" 

"As we'll ever be," Jim said, preparing for the worst. 

"If medical science progressed to the point where you could give birth to your male lover's child, would you do it?" 

The ensuing silence was deafening. 

"Well? You gonna answer the question or what?" Chuck looked from one to the other in anticipation. 

"I think Jim should go first," Blair announced. 

"Go where first?" the cop asked defensively. 

"You should answer the question first!" Blair clarified. 

"I don't want to," Jim said simply. 

"Want to have a baby or want to answer the question?" the anthropologist asked curiously. 

"I-I-I'm not answering that question!" Jim sputtered. 

"Which question? The first question or the second question?" Blair scratched his ear in confusion. 

"Shut up, Sandburg," Jim growled. 

"Oh now someone's feeling a little defensive!" the younger man hooted. 

"You have to answer the question," Chuck chimed in. 

"I plead the fifth," Jim said stubbornly. 

"You can't plead the fifth, that only works for real live people not for fictional characters," the cherub informed him with a shrug. 

"Look, any way I answer that I'm gonna get in trouble. If I say yeah, I'd do it then I'm fucked in the head but if I say hell no, my one true love over there is gonna get all pissy and start talking about how out of touch I am with my feminine side and shit like that. Forget it, I'm not answering!" 

"I wouldn't do that to you!" Blair said in a hurt tone. 

"Bullshit!" Jim snapped back. 

"Why don't you answer the question then," Chuck suggested as he turned to Blair. 

"Who me?" Blair shook his head, "Nuh uh, I'm not answering that!" 

"Why not?" Chuckie asked. 

"Well, because...if Jim doesn't have to answer it then why should I?" Blair sputtered. 

"Would someone just answer the fucking question so I can go home!" Chuckie threw up his arms in defeat. 

"What's the matter, Einstein?" Jim sneered a little, "Afraid to show your feminine side, huh? Feeling a little REPRESSED???" 

"No!" Blair pouted. "Fine then, if women can have babies then so can men, right?" 

"Not this man!" Jim snorted. 

"Yeah, well, guess that makes me someone secure enough in my identity to admit that I am willing to look beyond traditional sexual roles and experience the ongoing miracle of life!" the young man shouted as he rose to his feet and glared down at his seated lover. 

"Actually, it just makes you look like a big huge pussy," Chuck offered. 

"Shut up!" Blair snapped and sat back down abruptly, his arms crossed tight and his face dark with frustration and embarrassment. 

"Told ya, there was no right answer to that question," Jim preened. 

"Yeah, well don't we feel all superior?" Blair asked sarcastically. 

"As a matter of fact..." 

"Fuck you, and not in a good way." 

"Okay, what number are we at?" Chuckie mused, scratching at his greasy head then sniffing his fingertips and wiping them on the chair. Jim looked at him with unbridled disgust while Blair grinned from ear to ear, already anticipating Jim's cleaning frenzy when the gross little man left. "Oh to hell with it, next question: describe your partner physically." 

"Tall." 

"Short." 

"Repressed." 

"Mouthy." 

"Bald." 

"Furry." 

"Has definite signs of an Oedipus Complex." 

"Sorta delicate and femme..." 

"FUCK YOU!" 

"Heh heh." 

"Okay, we won't even go into that. Next question: Would you describe yourself as being homosexual?" 

Both men bit their lips in consideration. 

"Well, haven't we gotten to the point where we can just disregard labels?" Blair laughed nervously. 

"Look man, I only read 'em, okay? The question is: Would. You. Describe. Yourself. As. Being. Ho-mo-sex-u-al?" Chuckie drew out every word in emphasis as he looked from one man to the other. 

"Other than with Blair, no," Jim answered. 

"Yeah, I'm straight," Blair agreed. "If I _had_ to pigeonhole my sexuality then at the most I'd be bi." 

"So you guys don't have sex?" Chuck asked. 

"Well, yeah, we have sex," Blair agreed reluctantly. 

"I thought we'd already established that," Jim huffed. 

"So, you guys do everything to each other and you love and kiss each other all the time, but that doesn't make you gay?" The cherub scratched his whiskered chin in confusion. 

"Well, we only do that stuff with each other," Jim said and Blair nodded in assent. 

"So, you guys have never, like, done it with any other guys?" the angel asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"Well..." 

"Because according to my information...," Chuck began to flip through the pages quickly, "aha! It seems that you fellas have been pretty busy, if you know what I mean." 

"How do you know that your information is accurate, huh?" Blair defended. 

"Buddy, pal, friend-o-mine, I ain't yer guidance councilor, okay? Don't try to shit me here, this is HEAVEN! We see more shit than Santa Claus, capice?" the angel rejoined sarcastically. 

"Okay fine! What do you want us to say," Jim sighed. 

"Look man, you're here, you're queer, get used to it and stop boring the hell out of the general public with this overused angst plot device," Chuck yawned, "Now can we wrap this up with the last question already?" 

"First...Blair?" 

The younger man looked up toward his companion wearily, "Yeah, Jim?" 

"I have a confession to make," Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm gay and so are you." 

"You sure?" Blair asked. 

"Pretty sure," he assented. 

"Good, I was wondering why we kept sucking each other's cocks once or twice a day," Blair retorted. 

"Dudes, TMI, okay?" Chuck held up his hands defensively. "Last question..." Chuckie cleared his throat and looked at his companions uncomfortably. 

"What is it?" Jim asked warily. 

"Oh man, it can't be as bad as the whole gay thing you asked a minute ago!" Blair burst out. 

"Okay, look," Chuck licked his lips and sighed. "Not to, y'know, go into detail here, but...well." Chuck scratched his head and thought about how he was going to phrase the next question. 

"C'mon, what is it?" Blair urged. 

"I'm tryin' to think, okay?" the angel gestured between the two of them, "Okay, you guys, y'know, do stuff together and it's private and all so we don't have to get into the whole color/texture thing. All we ask is that when you do what you do...well, listen, Jim's a sentinel, right?" 

"Yeah, so?" Blair shrugged and Jim nodded curiously. 

"If he has trouble with deodorant and flavored toothpaste, don't you think that the whole ass licking thing is a bit much?" 

"Ah man!" Blair looked like he swallowed pure lemon juice and Jim's shudder would have been almost comical if anyone had been in the mood to laugh. "That's so...ewwwwwwwww!!!" 

"It has to be said, dude," Chuckie sighed. "Somebody out there is writing this shit and that means someone here did the musky butt funk dive. Just remember, crack kills, m'kay?" 

"Objection noted!" Jim looked green around the gills and Blair was still trying to scrub the image from his mind. 

"Man, have you seen what he eats?!?" Blair asked, "I don't even eat Wonderburgers fresh from the drive through much less recycled!" 

"Actually, it's usually Jimbo doin' the dive, but it might be a whole...heh heh 'hole'ahem, the whole cunnilingus transference thing." 

"I don't get it," Blair shook his head in bewilderment. 

"He means that you're the girl," Jim clarified. 

"I'm NOT the girl!" 

"No comment," Jim grinned saucily. 

"I'll give you a comment, you sonovabitch..!" 

"Okay dudes, it's been swell but I got a pot pie in the oven and nude midget mud wrestling is on in ten minutes so I'm gonna split." Chuckie got up and dusted off his loincloth causing dust and various other things to fall ever so gently toward Jim's once clean floor. Already the big cop was eyeing his vacuum cleaner in anticipation of the cherub's exodus. 

"It's a shame you have to leave so soon," Blair said politely but with a definite look of relief. 

"Oh, I could stay I suppose..." Chuck shrugged. 

"Nonononononono!!!!" Both men said at once. 

"You sure?" the cherub asked politely. "I mean, it's prolly just reruns..." 

"Positive! Enjoy your...whatever," Jim's smile was more than a little desperate at this point. 

"Well, okay..." As Chuck turned his back so he could gather up his paperwork, Jim reached up and smacked Blair in the back of his head. A silent argument ensued in which words such as 'what the hell were you thinking of' and 'fuck you, I was being polite,' were mouthed silently and punctuated with several long sweeping gestures, mostly pointed towards Chuck's considerable ass. 

"See ya, dudes!" Chuck said with a grin as he turned back toward him. Blair and Jim snapped back to attention and offered him bright, huge smiles that showed more teeth than sincerity. 

"Hey, ah, before you go, how do we know if we passed or whatever?" Blair asked curiously. 

"Oh, well, if you don't disintegrate you're prolly okay," Chuck grinned, and with a sudden shimmer of light and the sound of air being displaced, he was gone. 

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Blair wondered aloud. 

" _sniff_ Ah GOD! What is that stench!?!" Jim grabbed his nose and fell back several inches. 

"Ohoh whoa, ah shit man, open a window!!!" Blair put his hand over his mouth and ran out of the room, "Damn, you think he coulda done that after he left!" 

"Fart Bombed by an Angelthink anybody'd believe us, Chief?" Jim coughed. 

"Sentinels, spirit animals, ghosts, voodoo, angelswhat's not to believe?" Blair shrugged before opening the window and breathing in the clean, sweet air outside. 

Jim joined him and after a few minutes of doing nothing more than sucking in oxygen, he grinned at his partner devilishly, "Y'know, just in case we do go 'poof'..." 

"Yeah?" Blair prodded. 

"Wanna go have a little fun before we get our asses cancelled?" 

"Well, what did you have in mind?" 

* * *

Chuck stepped off the elevator and the second his sandaled foot hit the dirty ozone of the cloud, four angels were crowded around him, talking at the same time. 

"What happened?" 

"Did you fuck it up?!?" 

"You were only gone for, like, thirty minutesforty-five tops!" 

"Did you bring me anything?" 

"SHUT UP!" Marva yelled and the crowd parted so she could elbow her way toward Chuck, "Now, did you fix it or am I gonna have to rip yer wings off and shove 'em up your ass?" 

"Ow," Mel winced sympathetically. 

"Hey, that's nothing compared to what _I'LL_ do to him if we get our walking papers," TJ threatened. 

"Do shut up TJ," Wilson glared. 

"I guess I fixed it," Chuck shrugged then walked past the four angels so he could collapse on the couch with a sigh before picking up the remote and flipping through the channels. 

"You guess?!?" TJ exploded. "You mean you don't know?!?" 

"They didn't, like, explode or nothin' so I guess it's okay," Chuck picked up a warm beer from the coffeetable and took a sip. "Oh man, the Nude Midget Female Mud Wrestling Championship Finals are on!" 

"Gimme the friggin' remote!" Marva snatched the small device from the cherub's grubby fist and flipped it to the fanfiction channel. 

"But Rolanda was about to take down Juicy Lucy with the Triple Tongued Nipple Grip!" Chuck whined. 

TJ smacked Chuck on the back of the head, "Shaddup!" 

"Hey!" Chuck turned to TJ with a frown, "Thatow!!!" 

Wilson smacked him on the back of the head in the same place TJ had just a moment ago, "Hush!" 

"Fuck this man, I'm sitting over by Melvin," Chuckie griped as he got up to sit next to the younger angel on the broken down loveseat. 

"Is it all right?" Wilson asked, wringing his hands nervously. 

"I dunno yet," Marva continued to puff away, her expression tense. 

On the small television set, Roma Downey and Kathy Lee Gifford were interviewing some guy in a chef's outfit. 

"I just love Devil's Food!" Kathy Lee said with a huge white toothed grin. 

"I do too!" Roma tittered, "So, how did ye say ya made yer cookies, Lucifer? I can call ye Lucifer, can't I?" 

"Be my guest! Anyway, you take two cups flour, one half cup cocoa, six tortured souls, three eggs---" 

//WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM FOR SOME LATE BREAKING NEWS!// 

Suddenly, Freddie Mercury appeared on screen sitting behind a news desk in pearls and a short skirted mini dress suit which showed off his thick mustache to perfection, "Good evening Heaven, this is Freddie Mercury bringing you a late breaking report from the Celestial Council." 

"Wow, Freddie looks good!" Chuck mused. "I never woulda thought he could carry off pastels..." 

"SHHH!" 

Freddie picked up a small stack of papers and began to read, "The Sentinel has been picked up for another season by the network---" 

Much whooping and hollering came from the other side of the screen as Melvin, Chuck and TJ exchanged high fives and shouted 'you da man' to one another. 

"Will you guys please shut the FUCK UP!" Marva roared. 

"Oh. Sorry," Melvin apologized and they continued to watch the TV in silence. 

"with a new format and several new guest writers. In related news, several people have been reported as missing in Cascade, Washington along with a female Forensics officer. We're going live on the scene with Liberace. Take it away, Lee!" 

The scene shifted and Liberace was standing in the middle of a large diner, resplendent in a white and silver sequined tux, pink feather boa, and diamond studded microphone. 

"Oh Freddie darling, you look fabulous!" Lee winked, "Way to accessorize!" 

"Did it just for you, doll," Freddie smiled, "What's the news in Cascade?" 

"Well," Lee's voice dropped to a 'let's dish' level, "it appears that dozens of prominent characters have suddenly disappeared-POOF! Gone! All were described as being incredibly successful, smart, gorgeous, sexually outgoing, and seemed to know everyone even though no one seemed to know them very well. It's all just _too_ mysterious, darling! One such person, Cassie something or other, actually worked for the police department and hasn't been seen since her last shift." 

"Oh my," Freddie pursed his lips and leaned forward, "Any leads?" 

"Well, see that gorgeous hunk of cop over there?" The camera panned toward Jim and Blair who were sitting at the counter scarfing down donuts. "That's the lead detective on the case, from what I understand." 

"Well, go over there and ask him!" Freddie shooed. 

"I'm hurrying, darling, but these heels are killing my feet!" Liberace hobbled over the counter then jumped up on a stool and crossed his legs elegantly. "Oh Detective Ellison! I'm Liberace, aka 'Mr. Showmanship', from HALO Cloud 9 news and I was wondering if you'd care to comment on tonight's ever so mysterious disappearances?" 

Jim belched politely into his napkin then turned to the camera with a shrug, "Damn if I know what's goin' on. We think that maybe it was a cult thing." 

Liberace blinked, "That's it?" 

"Well, other than that, no." Jim shrugged then took a big bite of his donut, "Y'know, _chew_ these cerulean sprinkled donuts are pretty good!" 

From beside him Blair waved to the camera and held up his fingers in a peace sign, "Hey!!! Hi mom, I'm on TV! PEACE! Hey Jim, pass me a bearclaw, would ya?" 

"Well, I guess that's all my darlings! This is Liberace, signing off!" the reporter waved his fingertips at the camera before taking a bite of his own donut, "Hey, these are good. I used to have a piano this color" _CLICK_

Marva switched off the TV with a sigh, "Well, at least that's over." 

"Yeah," TJ grunted as he adjusted his fly. "You guys wanna go play some pool down town at the Inferno Lounge?" 

"I could go for a spot of darts myself," Wilson shrugged. 

"Let's go," Marva lit up another cigar and followed the crowd out. 

"Man, I can't believe we missed mudwrestling so we could watch the news," Chuck griped, scratching himself. 

"Get over it, fat boy," the large angel ordered as she hit the down button on the elevator panel. 

"I'll buy you a burger, Chuck," Mel smiled clapping him on his shoulder. "Thanks for saving my job, dude." 

"All in a day's work, my man. All in a day's work." 

The End  <look out hell, here I come! ;-p>


End file.
